


Homing Beacon

by Northern_spies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Breaking and Entering, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 05:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20204179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_spies/pseuds/Northern_spies
Summary: Aziraphale almost lets his fear get the best of him. Fortunately Crowley knows there is something therapeutic about committing well-intentioned crimes with your partner.





	Homing Beacon

**Author's Note:**

> Posted with many thanks to the Good Omen fic writers Discord members who beta'ed this! I'm still struggling with emotional description but you all made this ten times better than it otherwise might have been.

Aziraphale used to walk alone at night. 

He didn’t sleep, at least not often. And while he mostly favoured spending his evenings reading, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for the lure of a nighttime stroll to hook him. The local university’s 24 hour library was so much less crowded in the small hours. As an added bonus, there was a Thai restaurant that stayed open quite late just a block out of the way. No, he was not at all surprised when, a month after the averted apocalypse, his occasional craving for tom kha gai surfaced. He glanced at the clock as it struck midnight, locked up the bookshop, and set off into the darkness.

Aziraphale savoured every step. A light rain danced off his tartan umbrella as the damp pavement lit up with gauzy reflected light. The weather was ideal for a walk; ever since the Garden, Aziraphale had found rain made an already lovely environment just that much more satisfying. He took in great lungfuls of cool air and glowed with gratitude for an Earth still turning. 

He was just rounding the corner midway between his shop and the restaurant when a set of footsteps thudded behind him. He peeked over his shoulder, but found the corner empty except for a group of young people admiring a shop window across the street. They seemed a bit far off to make such a loud noise but he supposed it was possible. Still, better to quicken his pace. He rolled the tension out of his shoulders and continued. 

The rough sound of leather shoes against pavement sent a chill down his spine once again. He whipped around, scattering droplets off his umbrella onto the sidewalk. “Whoever you are, I would appreciate a little space!” He found himself shouting to an unoccupied street. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. It was only sensible to trust one’s instincts, given recent events, wasn’t it? Moving quickly, he ducked into an alleyway, the footsteps growing louder behind him. He glanced down the alleyway, struggling to find a way out. Nothing. His gaze swept upward. A fire escape! The umbrella hit the pavement with a sharp clack as he climbed skyward. Surely, this late, it couldn’t be a coincidence that someone he couldn’t see was pursuing him. He paused on the highest landing and crouched in the shadows.

It would be just a moment now. If only he’d listened to Crowley and finally gotten a mobile phone, he might at least warn him. Unless. A chill rippled through him as he blinked away the image of Gabriel tipping a pitcher of holy water onto a bound and gagged Crowley. So alone and helpless. The fire escape and darkness were useless; should anyone approach, they’d find him by the thundering of his heart alone. 

The sound drew nearer, taking on the echoes of the alleyway. Aziraphale was frozen. All he could see was his own body, housing Crowley’s soul, being dragged away. He could smell the grass and the strawberry ice lolly, feel the pavement against his face and the rough hands hauling him backwards. Again and again. 

“Angel?” 

He must be hallucinating Crowley’s voice. Surely, the forces of Heaven and Hell were upon him now.

“Hey, are you- are you in there?” An apparition of Crowley knelt in front of him and removed his sunglasses, disrupting Aziraphale’s vision of the park. “What’s happened to you?” Crowley leaned in until their foreheads nearly met. “Open eyes, but no recognition… angel?” Aziraphale felt a gentle pressure on his left shoulder. 

His body shook violently and finally came unstuck. Perhaps not an apparition after all. He blinked his eyes against the intensity of Crowley’s gaze. 

“You’ve got to go. Run if you can. They’re after us,” he urgently whispered. “I can’t move, but do try to save yourself, please, just do this, please.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “Aziraphale-”

“I heard them, they’re right around the corner, please-”

Crowley grabbed both of Aziraphale’s shoulders. “No one’s coming. I checked.”

“But I heard-”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Cats, probably. Or students, lots of rowdy students in this neighborhood. All hours of the night they’re up, half of them drunk, half of them sleep deprived. Doesn’t matter that it’s two in the morning and raining.”

Aziraphale felt the rhythm of his usual breath returning. “Ta-two?” 

“Yeah, bit late for the local bookshop owner to be out carousing, at least without the local bad influence, isn’t it?” Crowley winked at him, and the knot in his stomach loosened. “What’re you doing out, anyway?”

“I could ask the same of you!”

“_ I _was asleep. Lovely, rainy evening. Always sleep the best in the rain; comforting stuff, rain. Reminds me of, well. Other rain.”

How could Crowley possibly sleep when any number of threats might be closing in on them? “Asleep?”

“Yeah, except then I-” Crowley released his hands from Aziraphale’s shoulders and put his glasses on. “I, uh, felt something.”

“The rain?”

“No not the rain, you idiot, when I feel the rain I get tired, we’ve established that. I felt you, I felt you panic. Thought you’d done something dangerous so I came to bail you out, as usual.” Crowley shook his head. “Took me ages to find you, crouched four stories up on some rusty old fire escape in an alley. You really ought to stick to ground level.” 

“I suppose I should say thank you.”

“Not until we get you dried off.” Crowley snapped his fingers, and Aziraphale found himself thoroughly dry and much warmer. “And back to your place.”

* * *

Crowley let them both into the bookshop, sat Aziraphale down on the sofa, placed a quilt around his shoulders, and thrust a cup of cocoa into his hands. He pulled a chair close to the sofa, sat down, and leaned in.

His eyebrows were drawn together above his glasses as he fixed his eyes on Aziraphale’s face. “Ok, talk.”

“Uhh,” answered Aziraphale. He could not decide whether to feel comforted or interrogated.

“What happened back there?”

“Well, it was midnight and I was getting a trifle bored with my book and feeling a bit peckish, so I thought I’d go get some soup.”

Crowley pressed his lips together as he considered Aziraphale’s story. After a moment he gave a quick nod. “Sounds like you."

“I was walking to my favorite late-night Thai restaurant when I suddenly got the feeling I was being pursued. It was the strangest thing, I heard footsteps but never saw anyone.  
Aziraphale looked away. “They kept getting louder and I decided to hide.”

“Explains the fire escape.” 

“Yes.” Aziraphale paused, unsure if admitting the next part would cause Crowley to think he’d completely lost his mind. He sipped the cocoa, rich and warm with a hint of- was that cinnamon? Crowley rarely joined him for non-alcoholic beverages, yet he’d somehow managed the best cup of cocoa Aziraphale had enjoyed in ages. He felt the tiniest spark of courage at the edge of his fear. “And I think I lost some, er, time. Out there.”

Crowley leaned back and looked down at Aziraphale. “Lost time?”

“I locked up here at midnight, so I would have been near that alley no later than 12:10.” His stomach tightened as he confronted his own confusion. “And you didn’t find me until after 2:00.” 

Confusion flitted across Crowley’s face. “Two hours?! You were completely frozen for two hours?”

Aziraphale’s lower lip quivered. “Must have been. I’m so sorry, I wouldn’t have disturbed your sleep intentionally, I suppose I must have been in a very bad state.”

Crowley stared at the space above Aziraphale’s head. “It felt just like it did when above and below caught up to us in the park. You were just as frightened. I knew you couldn’t have been taken, because I could still- well, whenever you’re on the other plane, I can’t.” He shook his head. “The connection is lost.”

Aziraphale’s heart gave a strange flutter. “How long have you been able to-?”

Crowley leaned forward again. “I’m asking the questions here, angel.” 

“At least tell me how you do it!’ Surely it would be useful for him to know when Crowley was in danger. “I was so worried something had happened to you too and I had no way of checking!” 

“You’d have a way of checking if you’d get a damned mobile!”

* * *

Crowley stayed the night. 

Aziraphale tried to give him an out, offering “you know I’ll be up all night anyway,” and “surely the chair isn’t comfortable enough to _ sleep _ in,” but Crowley deflected each time. And sleep, it turned out, wasn’t a concern; they stayed up all night talking. Aziraphale suspected Crowley was trying to keep him distracted, given he kept offering up favoured subjects like Shakespearean tragedies and misprinted Bibles. He had to admit it helped: whenever the conversation lapsed, his mind went right back to Crowley being washed away in a flood of holy water. 

When the first rays of sun were beginning their journey out of the east, Crowley paused to stretch. “Another hour and we can go to breakfast. There’s a new pastry shop near mine.” He yawned. “I saw their pain au raisin through the window the other day and they have fussy Italian coffee. Seems like your sort of place.” 

Aziraphale mentally played through the fifteen minute walk between the bookshop and Crowley’s flat. A sweeping, sick feeling rushed through his center at the thought of all that exposure. “I’m not hungry.”

Crowley threw his head back and laughed. “Mark that down in your books, for the first time in recorded history -- actually, _ any _history -- Aziraphale doesn’t want to visit a bakery!” 

Crowley was so much more courageous, of course he was laughing. Aziraphale blinked away a threatened tear. He shook the quilt off his shoulders and stood. “I’ve got some tea here, if you’d like a cup.” 

Crowley rose from the chair and looked out the window. “Nice day. We could feed the ducks.”

Yes, it was silly to think Crowley could understand. “Not so nice,” said Aziraphale. “Too sunny, I think I’ll stay in and work on organizing the geography section.”

Crowley turned from the window and stepped toward him. “Too sunny?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Too sunny.”

Crowley advanced on him. “So you’re not interested in pastries. Or the sun. Or the ducks.” 

“Not in the slightest.” Aziraphale titled his chin up to meet Crowley’s gaze. Perhaps if he sounded confident, Crowley would agree to stay here. Where they were in control. “A good day for staying home.”

Crowley grabbed the lapels of Aziraphale’s jacket and hauled him close. “Tell me something only Aziraphale would know,” he growled. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Leave it to Crowley to take things half a step too far. “Is this really necessary, my dear fellow?”

  
Crowley glared down at Aziraphale with a furrowed brow. “Yes. Because the Angel _ I _ know wouldn’t turn down pain au raisin and a sun-soaked stroll down by the duck pond,” he spat. “Answer the question.”

“Can’t you _ feel _ that it’s me?” The moment the words left his lips Aziraphale knew he’d hit a nerve. 

Crowley winced. “Aziraphale.” His fists tightened against the angel’s lapels.

It wouldn’t do to have him worked up like this. Aziraphale sighed. “Very well then.” He cocked his head to the side. “Something no one else would know, hmm.” A small smile played across his lips. “How about that this is the eleventh time you’ve grabbed this particular jacket this way? Or that you usually only do this when I call you ‘nice,’ or ‘kind,’ or ‘go-’”

Crowley released him and stepped back. “Enough. I’m sure it’s you.” 

Aziraphale ran his hands over his wrinkled jacket, smoothing it in an instant. “That’s better. Now, if you’d like, you’re welcome to stay. As I said, I’m going to make a cup of tea. And organize my books.” Aziraphale paused to consider whether that sounded too desperate for company. “But if you feel compelled to go out looking for pastries and ducks, be my guest.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “You’re you, but something’s still not right.”

“No, everything is fine.” Aziraphale wriggled stiffly in an attempt to show off how ordinary he was feeling. “Absolutely tickety-boo.” He forced a smile. “Just, er. When you get back to your flat, could you, if it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps ring me?”

Crowley crossed his arms. “Why? If you want to talk, I’m here now.” 

“Oh. It isn’t to talk. Not as such, I just, well.” Aziraphale picked up a book and examined it, speaking towards its cover as much as Crowley. “I’d like to be sure you’ve arrived safely, is all.”

Crowley’s shoulders fell. “I’ll call.” He edged toward the door. 

Aziraphale set the book down and waved towards Crowley. “Well, I really ought to get back to work. Mind how you go.”

* * *

Aziraphale made an effort to straighten up and organize as intended. He even made the proposed cup of tea, but it sat undrunk on the desk as he buzzed about. 

Ordinarily, within half an hour of beginning any cleaning or organizational project, Aziraphale would find some long-forgotten text and abandon his work in favour of reading it. It had threatened to happen several times today, yet nothing was quite enough to hold his attention, even the usually fascinating fourteenth century Italian prophecies. He would begin reading, only to end up having to review the same paragraph twice to grasp the meaning. 

He had never strictly minded clocks, given how short minutes, hours, and even days were to a being of such longevity. Yet today, the soft ticking of the clock on his desk seemed louder than the rustling of pages and the heft of the books being shelved. Hours passed, and Crowley had not yet called.

Aziraphale’s chest tightened with each tick. What if something had happened? The new pastry shop might be a front for hellish or heavenly operations in the area. And hadn’t Crowley once said even the ducks have ears?

He picked up the receiver and dialed Crowley’s number. 

Crowley answered on the second ring. “Aziraphale! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The tightness in his chest unwound into annoyance, with both himself and with Crowley. “You said you’d call.”

“And I was going to, only I just got in.”

“Long day?”

“Wonderful day, wish you hadn’t missed it. Fantastic pastries. Perfect weather. String quartet playing in the park.”

“That does sound lovely.” Aziraphale ground the heel of his hand against his forehead. Why couldn’t he have just gone along?

“But I’m sure staying in the dusty shop dusting off the dusty books was just as _ lovely. _” 

Aziraphale recognized a threat of temptation in Crowley’s voice. He steeled himself against the full-barreled effort sure to follow. “Of course,” he stiffly replied. 

“And the night is shaping up to be just as beautiful as the day. I think I’ll pop by that sushi place, the one near the park where they’re having a production of _ Twelfth Night _. Care to join me?” 

Aziraphale winced. He couldn’t have planned a better outing himself. It had been such a joy giving into Crowley’s requests for companionship lately, not to mention what his own heart desired now that they were free to spend as much time together as they wanted. But that same heart raced at the thought of leaving the shop. In the shop, there was only a single entrance and exit. Whatever happened here, he could see it coming.

“I can’t,” he said. It was an honest statement, if not complete, he reasoned. 

“Why?” Crowley asked. 

“I’m busy.”

Crowley groaned and hung up the phone.

* * *

Aziraphale fretted around the shop. He’d never been afraid to go out before. And he’d been positively thrilled with the idea just the night before. What had changed? Was he going to let a single bad experience, which might have only been in his head anyway, stop him from living his life now that he was finally free to do so?

Yes. Unfortunately, the answer was absolutely yes. He sat down heavily upon the sofa and considered what life confined to his bookshop might look like. No more fascinating little restaurants, or poaching neglected treasures from other used bookshops. No more opera. And worst of all, the truly dreadful consequence, no more outings with Crowley.

This lead to an entirely different track of terrible thoughts - chiefly, that Crowley would want less or nothing to do with him if he became a complete shut-in. Sure, Crowley enjoyed the occasional bottle of wine in the bookshop, and they’d had many spirited arguments upon this very sofa. Lately, those arguments had even been punctuated with forays into affection. But these uniformly followed a stimulating evening elsewhere. 

His throat tightened at the prospect of disclosing all of this to Crowley. He stared down the phone, debating whether he ought to try inviting Crowley over to try to explain himself.

The bell above the shop door rang; he must have forgotten to lock up. “We’re closed!” he called.

“You never opened today, I let myself in!” Crowley replied. “I brought sushi.” 

Aziraphale felt his face warm. He had rejected Crowley’s invitation and yet here he was, still making the best of things. “Oh, my dear, how wonderful. You really didn’t have to. And what about _ Twelfth Night _?”

“I checked the newspaper. Terrible reviews.” Crowley grinned. “Besides, wouldn’t be any fun without you there.” 

Aziraphale fetched a bottle of Vouvray from the back and they sat opposite one another on the floor, sharing sushi across the coffee table. 

After two glasses, Aziraphale began to feel a bit brave. “About before,” he began.

“About how you chose organizing books over pastries?” 

“Er, yes. That. I hadn’t really been out much, since the near miss at Armageddon. At least not alone, and I think I was feeling a bit too confident, and then I just sort of lost it. And I don’t know what to do next. I rather want to stay in with my books, where I know what to expect. But I feel I ought to give an outing another go. Unfortunately even the prospect of something as delightful as pain au raisin doesn’t seem to be enough to overcome the sense of dread I feel whenever I get close to shop door.”

Crowley shrugged. “I figured.”

“Oh… of course. Since you can sense things about me, even when we’re apart. Come to think of it, why can’t I do that with you?”

Crowley looked away. “Had to. Ah. Cultivate it. Took time.”

Aziraphale nodded eagerly. “Can you teach me?”

“I’m not sure, I think it’s… must be a demon thing.” A slight blush colored his cheeks.

“Oh.” Aziraphale sighed.

“But there’s something I can do to help.”

Now that the prospect of help was on the table, reaching out to embrace it felt all too bold. Aziraphale held up both hands and gave Crowley a nervous smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Once you know what I’m planning, you’ll know you aren’t.”

* * *

“Where the devil are you taking me?” Aziraphale said as they hurried through the crisp fall air. 

Crowley was practically running. “Don’t want to ruin the surprise now, do we? We’re nearly there.” 

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. “Really, are you quite sure we’re safe out here? It’s so open.”

“Come on, don’t you trust me?” Crowley stopped suddenly and spread his arms.

“Of course, I- are we at the zoo?”

Crowley nodded. “Yep.”

“It’s closed.”

  
Crowley grinned. “Keen observation.”

Aziraphale scanned the area around them. “It feels spooky.”

“It’s a zoo, not a graveyard.”

“Tell me why we’re here, then?”

Crowley gave a guilty smile. “Puff adder. Looked a bit peaky last time I was here.”

“Really, Crowley, you couldn’t have just solved that problem yourself during ordinary business hours?”

“I tried, but with snakes I can’t.” He swallowed roughly and looked away. “Tried before. Round Island burrowing boa. Mid 1970s, Mauritius. There were only three left.”

Aziraphale reached for his hand but at the last moment thought it better to simply nod. “My dear. I didn’t know.”

“Not exactly demonic activity, trying to save a species from extinction. They weren’t even venomous, nothing wicked about them. But I gathered them all together and I tried, angel, but- snakes. I look at them and I just can’t heal them. They’re too much like-.” Crowley shrugged hopelessly. “But, we needed an outing with a good distraction, and you seem, er, ok, I guess, with snakes?”

Aziraphale felt his fear begin to evaporate. He placed a hand on Crowley’s tense shoulder. “I like snakes about as well as they like me.” Crowley relaxed under his grip. “Lead the way.” 

Crowley snapped his fingers at the locked gate and it sprang open. “Now, I cased the place earlier today. They’ve got security guards and cameras,” he whispered. “I made us less conspicuous, little demonic miracle, but, ah. Not sure about the range. Keep close.”

Aziraphale laced his fingers through Crowley’s and pressed against him. “It feels safer this way, anyhow.”

They set off toward the reptile house. Aziraphale thought he ought to be afraid. After all, there was just as much chance Heaven or Hell would come looking for them here as anywhere else. And there were human authorities to consider too. But like most things, this was far easier with Crowley beside him.

They slipped into the damp, warm darkness of the reptile house. Hip-to-hip with Crowley, the eeriness of the room didn’t bother Aziraphale at all. Crowley released his hand and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, steering him toward the correct enclosure. He miracled the glass away and Aziraphale reached in to extract the snake.

He held the snake up to the dim light. A series of glistening yellow scales overlaid by bold, black chevrons meandered along its writhing body. “Well, aren’t you an attractive creature!” he cooed. “What seems to be the trouble?”

Crowley gestured at the snake. “Blisters, on the ventral side.” 

“Oh my dear, you poor thing! Well, nothing we can’t solve fairly quickly.” Aziraphale slid a hand along the snake’s underside and watched the blisters disappear. “All better.” He gently placed the snake back in the enclosure. “Anything we can do to prevent that from happening again?”

Crowley ran his tongue along his lips, tasting the air. “It’s too humid in here.”

Aziraphale scanned the room. “We ought to adjust the climate control system. I wonder where they’ve placed it?”

“I’m more concerned about the keeper responsible for setting it,” said Crowley. “I’ll make sure he’ll be sacked.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Sensible. Shall we?” He offered Crowley his arm. 

Crowley linked his arm through Aziraphale’s and they set off. “Was that ok? Do you need to go back to the bookshop?” Aziraphale could hear the concern in his voice.

“No, I do think I’m feeling a bit better, so long as you’re with me.” He settled more tightly against Crowley’s side. “What do you say to some tom kha gai?”

* * *

They settled at a table and placed their order. Aziraphale felt completely at ease, in sharp contrast to the previous evening. So at ease, he decided to press his luck.

“About the connection,” he began.

“What connection?” Crowley asked suspiciously.

“You said you can feel me. My, ah, emotions?”

Crowley suddenly became very interested in the pattern on the placemat. “Yeah. Mostly when they’re really intense, makes it useful when you get yourself into trouble.”

Aziraphale twisted his ring as he tried to find the words to ask more. “Just when I’m afraid?”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Ah. No. Fear. Anger, really unbecoming of an angel so I fully support it when you have it. Except when it's me your angry with.” He laughed. “Uncertainty, you seem uncertain a lot. Once felt that one so strongly I thought you were deciding whether or not to commit a mortal sin! Came rushing out of my flat down to yours only to find you dithering over whether to rebind a tattered novel.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eyes. “What about when I have positive feelings?”

Crowley took a sharp breath. “Sure, those too,” he muttered.

“Right now?” Aziraphale could feel himself blushing. 

Crowley fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably. “Gratitude, I guess.”

Aziraphale felt he might burst if he didn’t ask the real question soon. He gave his ring one last twist, placed his hands firmly on the table, and looked directly at Crowley. “And why can’t I feel yours?”

“I already told you, it takes practice, Angel.” Crowley's face flushed red as he tried to avoid Aziraphale’s concentrated gaze.

“Practice at what?”

Crowley swallowed thickly. “Loving, I suppose,” he said softly.

“But I do love you.” Surely, he had made that clear; if not before, than certainly since they nearly lost one another. 

“No, not like- not like how you can feel when a place or something is loved, or when you admire something. It’s hard to describe, it’s more like, do you ever focus, uh, what you're feeling, really specifically on one thread of it? One person?"

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I suppose I could do that.” 

Crowley, now examining the ceiling, reached for his hand. “Here. Physical contact helps with the, uh. Focus.” Aziraphale placed his hand in Crowley’s and luxuriated in the pleasant buzz between them. “Now focus on, er, how you feel. About me. Really focus.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He relaxed into millennia of memories, of shared moments, unspoken feelings, of a constant thrum of love they knew they shared but could not acknowledge for so heart-achingly long.

An unexpected breeze stirred the branches of his consciousness, whispering with Crowley’s voice. _ I am here. We are safe. You are loved. _“Oh,” he said softly.

He opened his eyes to find Crowley cautiously smiling back at him. “How long?” Aziraphale asked, certain that this time he’d get an answer. 

Crowley’s cheeks tinged pink. “Started practicing the moment your wing brushed my shoulder in Eden. Haven’t stopped.” 

Aziraphale squeezed his hand. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
